Trouble Won't Wait (16 page)

“Boy, do I.”

Chapter 9

I wake with my cellphone next to me. I’m certain this would be cheating if I wasn’t already finished with Mike. As it is, maybe... But I haven’t done the deed myself, just talked Adam through it. I’m in the murky waters, almost as far as guys who think oral sex isn’t really sex. Like our former president. And he wasn’t even splitting up with his wife. This is how morality deteriorates. Some figurehead does a thing previously considered immoral, and others follow suit. Hey, at least I haven’t let Adam cigar-poke me. Ew.

It warmed up overnight, under cloud cover. On my way home from walking Rachel to school, it starts raining. I hate rain in the winter. It’s so wrong.

By walk time, the rain has stopped. And, though nearly freezing itself, it’s managed to melt away our pretty white snow, leaving a sloppy gray mess outside. I bundle up with a baseball cap and pull the windbreaker hood over it, a tank and sweatshirt layered under my jacket, and I climb into the slick pants which match my windbreaker. It’s only drizzling when I set out walking, so I shouldn’t get too wet.

Almost a mile into my walk, it starts pouring buckets of rain. Water runs down my pant legs and into my shoes. My hair is soaked under the hood, wicking icy water under the windbreaker and into my sweatshirt. Nice and glacial.

Through the heavy rain, I see a vehicle heading my way, so I step off the edge of the pavement, slipping on a clump of ice and snow piled there by the plows. I fall to my knees, but instantly pop back up, embarrassed that somebody saw me. Now my pants are muddy, but not for long. The rain comes down so fast, it’s already washing the mud away, carrying most of it into my shoes.

Caught up in watching rivers of mud flow into my hundred-dollar running shoes, I barely notice a second truck coming by until it passes, then stops behind me. It backs up and stops abruptly alongside me. Now that he’s close, I see it’s Adam’s work truck.

I climb thankfully in the passenger seat, mopping water from my face. I thought he might laugh at the mess I am, but he looks mad.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say cautiously.

“What the hell are you doing? Trying to get yourself killed?” He’s driving toward our neighborhood, his jaw set so hard his chin juts forward.

“I’m cold and wet, but I hardly think it’s life-threatening,” I soothe.

“Visibility’s for shit right now.”

“Luckily I only need to see a few feet ahead when I’m walking.” I’m an adult, after all.

To demonstrate a point, Adam stomps on the brakes. This sends the truck sliding several feet, some of them sideways. “Rain makes roads slick, Mandy. You know how many people die every year because of rain-slick roads?” He’s very angry, and maybe scared, too. “Add in the fact that nobody can see you until the last second, and you’re just asking to get creamed. You’re always thinking of your kids. How ’bout if their mom got killed out here walking?”

A valid point. My arsenal of arguments spent, I resort to excuses. “It wasn’t raining when I left the house.”

“You should’ve turned around when it started.” He’s parked in front of my house.

“Then I’d get home and it would stop, and I’d regret not getting my walk.” The thought makes me feel pouty. “I don’t wanta go home yet.” I consider suggesting he drive around awhile, but the mood he’s in, he’d probably be afraid we’d get in an accident.

Adam resumes driving and asks, “Don’t you have a treadmill?”

“No.” I’ve been dreading this time of year when the weather makes it impossible to walk. I have exercise videos, and have considered getting a treadmill. But the truth is I like to be outside. And now I like to see Adam at the end of my walk.

He’s shaking his head. “You’re soaked. You’ll be sick next.”

When he pulls up in front of his house, I’m shivering. I doubt sitting in his house in these wet clothes is going to be very warm. Probably should have gone home.

I follow him in via his garage, where I see he has an old candy-apple red Jag, like sixty-something old. Cool.

Inside, he hands me his robe and a towel. “You can put your wet stuff in the dryer.”

“Oh.” I use the laundry room to change, not wanting to see my drowned-dog reflection in a mirror. His robe smells good, like him and Bounce. I’ve made an impression!

Man robes are a weird length. They end right at the knees. The sleeves are big and floppy, hitting me at the elbows. Ugh. I feel awkward and very unsexy when I slink into Adam’s living room and sit on the hearth in front of the crackling, heavenly fire he’s built.

He brings me cocoa and kneels in front of me. “Promise me you won’t go out except on the sidewalks when it’s raining like that again?”

I nod and he kisses my forehead, clearly relieved. The cocoa feels good going down. Scalding hot, but good. I shiver as I warm, placing my cold bare feet as near the fire as I dare. We’re quiet together, and it feels nice.

He’s looking at my feet. I should polish my toenails now and then, or at least rub some cream on all the cracked spots. My winter feet look kinda haggard.

“Let me rub your feet and warm them,” he suggests.

I shake my head, easing my feet toward my body.

“Come on.” He reaches for them.

I curl them under me, batting his hand away. “Bad idea. My feet are, uh, highly erogenous.”

He smiles devilishly.

Better make him understand. “I don’t get pedicures because I’m afraid of getting turned on at the salon. If I was a hooker, I’d trade for foot massages, and feel like I got the best end of the deal.”

He moves toward me with that same fiendish smile on his face.

“Adam, no. Really.”

His hands have captured my left foot. They’re so warm, it feels like heaven. I know if I let him rub my feet, I’ll end up in bed with him. A guy in college, who I had no intention of sleeping with, seduced me that way.

“No!” I’m jerking my foot away when he grabs the other.

“Just let me warm ’em up. Besides, I’d like to see you all hot and bothered.” He doesn’t understand I’m not kidding. He rubs between my toes, stimulating my unwilling body.

I hurry to set my cocoa mug down on the stone hearth and try to crawl away, even as he gives chase, still holding the left foot. It’s hard crawling on one leg, especially in a robe. I give up, flopping down on my belly. Maybe just this once, I can relax and enjoy the foot rub for what it is, maybe…no! Definitely not. It’s like the ignition key to my big sex engine. I can feel it roaring to life, and I can’t stop it.

“Stop it, stop. No.” I cover my face with my hands, and try to kick my foot free, but he’s strong and barely notices. He goes into the deep massage on the ball of my foot, and I’m crying. I’ve asked him to stop, and he won’t. He knows why I don’t want this, but he’s not stopping. I’m suddenly back in my bedroom, and Mike is tearing off my clothes. “No. I said
no
!”

He rolls me over. “Mandy, hey! I stopped, okay? Hey.”

I’m crying hard. Maybe harder than I ever have before.

He pulls my hands from my face, trying to see into me, figure out why a foot-rub would turn me into such a psycho. “You’re terrified. What the hell happened?”

I let him put my head in his lap and hold my hands, until I calm down some. My feet are curled protectively against my bottom inside the robe.

Now things come clear again. What the hell am I going to tell him? I know what he thinks. He thinks I was raped.

“I need to, um, go. I’ve gotta go, Adam. Rachel will be home. I have to go.” I’m talking fast, so fast, as I scramble up.

Adam shakes his head, pulling me back to his lap. “It’s only two thirty.”

I push against him, struggling.
Let me go!
I think it over and over. I’m back there again, flailing, wanting it to end. “I’ll scream if you don’t let me go!”

He loosens his arms and I heave myself up, running for the laundry.

My clothes aren’t completely dry, but they’re warm. When I’m finished dressing, he’s standing in the hallway, arms crossed.

“Sorry,” I tell him.

He stares back, eyes wide and blue, brows drawn down.

“I’m okay. Will you drive me home?” The warm clothes are cooling off fast. They’re much wetter than I thought.

He hasn’t moved, staring at me like I’m a new species. “You can’t treat me like a rapist and not explain why.”

“Fine. I’ll walk then. There are sidewalks.”

Adam moves closer, but he’s nervous about it. “Goddammit, Mandy. Trust me with something, will ya? Or go to the police and report whatever happened to you. A counselor or
somebody
.”

“There’s nothing to report, Adam.” I stare at the wood floor, wondering how much to tell him. How much will be enough to get him off my back? How much will bring even more questions? “It was an almost-incident, but it didn’t happen. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you sure seemed fine five minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry.” I am very sorry I made him feel like I fear him.

“You’re not sorry, you’re fucking
traumatized
!”

“God. Please don’t yell at me.” I’m crying again. Why does my life have to be so complicated? Is this my punishment for carrying on with Adam while I’m still married? I slide down the wall, put my head on my knees, and hide my eyes. “He almost did it. I’m not sure if he would have. I’m not sure if I could have screamed to get the kids’ attention, or if I would’ve kept quiet so they wouldn’t know. I’m not sure. But he stopped. He stopped.”

That’s all that matters, right?

“Mandy, you have to get out of there. Do you hear me? Get out of there. Come here. Go to your brother’s, a hotel. Anywhere. Just leave.” He’s so freaked out. This is why I would never, never have told him.

“It’s okay. I lock the door now. Two doors. It’s okay. He won’t try it again, anyway. It wasn’t like him, he’s not like that. He was…well…desperate.”

“You think he’s not
more
desperate now?”

I shake my head. “He’s accepting it now.”

“Yeah, that’s why he got assaulted by your brother at a school function.” His arms are still crossed, but at least the hands aren’t in fists anymore.

“Will you take me home? I have to change. These clothes are still wet.”

He helps me stand.

“I’m sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry. I know you’d never–I just can’t stop it when my feet are rubbed. I couldn’t control it.”

Adam’s jaw tightens and he nods that he understands. He grabs a towel and puts it on the truck seat so I don’t get soaked by my previous wet spot.

His kindness in the face of my insanity makes me feel even worse.

At my driveway, he puts his truck in Park. “If it happens again, I’ll kill him. Call me when you go to bed?” Dead calm, that voice.

I nod, thinking it sounded pretty creepy.

He waits for me to make it inside, punches it and speeds away.

* * * *

“Hey.” It’s eleven PM, and I’ve just dialed Adam. “Sorry it’s always so late when I call.”

“I’m usually up late working in the studio anyway. Everything okay at your house?”

I really hate for him to know about that. He was worried enough before. All evening I’ve tried to think of a way I could’ve avoided his finding out. Of course, if I hadn’t been at his house in the first place… “Yeah. Two more days until the kids are out for Christmas, and they’re psyched. I have to take them shopping one day next week.”

“I have a meeting with Building and Planning at the courthouse in Glenwood tomorrow. Come meet me for lunch.”

I turn this invitation over, weighing the odds of being recognized versus getting to eat with him. Well, it is only lunch.

“What time?”

We agree to meet at the restaurant. Mexican again, but he won’t hear me complaining.

“Mandy?”

“Yeah?”

“Sleep well. I’ll wait ’til I know you’re sleeping.”

He’s worried about me, and to know that makes something tighten in my chest.

“Okay.”

Chapter 10

I’m dressing in new black slacks and a scoop-neck purple sweater I haven’t worn before. I feel good. Good makeup, great hair. My eyes look very blue against the deep purple top and an amethyst necklace and earrings I’ve had for years.

Mike and I had a counseling session scheduled this morning, but Baldwin called to cancel. He sounded mighty hung over, but said he was sick. Fine with me, either way.

Mike schlepped off to work, looking disappointed after finding out our appointment was off. Could he possibly believe there’s still a chance we might work things out through therapy?

On the half-hour drive to my lunch date in Glenwood Springs, I think about how hard Mike has been trying to reconcile. We really have a lot going for us as a couple. Self-doubt makes me worry I’m making his one infidelity into a bigger wrongdoing than it is. Is that because I want to be with Adam? How will I tell Mike after Christmas that I’m in love with another man? It’s going to be a huge shock for him, to face that I’ve had no intention of working things out through therapy. God, am I a shithead for leading Mike on this way?